Recruiting More than One Thing
by binnibeans
Summary: HP AU - Arthur's found out that Alfred's being scouted for US Quidditch teams. He takes it upon himself to change this.


**A/N**: For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event! Whoo, nearly done uploading these. :) A few notes before you get started on this one: Eirík Odinsson: Iceland; Mathias Christiansen: Denmark; Evalyne Gotti: Monaco; Emma Bauwens: Belgium.

July 19th: Sports

_Both America and England have a rich sports culture, with sports of their own and sports they share. Any sport can be used. They can be playing it, watching it, learning, etc._

* * *

><p>It was Halloween night, and most of the students had finished up their feasting, heading back to their common rooms. Others still sat in the Great Hall, filling themselves to the absolute brim. First Years spoke animatedly of the Quidditch match to be held the next day. For many of them it was their first, and the two Second Years that managed to nab substitute spots sat on their beds, shaking in anticipation. Many of the Fifth Years sat in the Courtyard, making bets, the more studious ones doing some last-minute studying in the library. The Slytherin team stood in a deserted hall, discussing game plans, as the Gryffindor team (minus one) did the same, but in their Common Room.<p>

One Slytherin, however, and the missing Gryffindor team member, sat in a much more secluded part of the library. They were filled from their supper, talking of the next day's game. It was the first of the term's games, and one of the most anticipated as it was between two houses whose rivalry knew no equal. Most of the time, anyway. The two students, Seventh Years, sat with their heads together speaking jovially. (Well, one of them—the other, the Slytherin, didn't seem quite as excited.)

"They're gonna be sitting in the Faculty Box, talking with Professor McGonagall! Man, I hope she decides to skip over mentioning some of my detentions…." He tapped his finger several times to the picture of the stands that sat on the small table between them. "Can you just imagine?"

The other huffed. "Imagine what?"

"If they like me! The scouters! I mean, really. How awesome would that be? That'd be pretty awesome."

Arthur Kirkland, Seventh Year Slytherin and Head Boy, remained quiet for a moment; then two, maybe even 3. He sat back some, looked at the picture of the Quidditch Pitch, staring where Alfred's finger pointed. "And if they do like you?"

Alfred's excitement could hardly be contained, forcing Arthur to cast a quick muffling charm around them. (Not that it was likely to stop Madam Pince and her odd ability to hear everything that went on in her library.) Arthur watched on, a little forlornly, as Alfred animated his enthusiasm. "Well, then after our N.E.W.T.'s, I'll head over to the US, and do my stuff!"

A sigh escaped Arthur, though it went unnoticed by Alfred. Of course, he could hardly blame him, what with his projected … _exhilaration_. "And if they don't?" he asked.

At this, Alfred laughed. It made Arthur wince. "They're not going to not like me! I'm one of the best Beaters Gryffindor's ever seen!"

"They'll try and compare you with Héderváry."

"Elizaveta?"

"Yes."

"Nah." Alfred shook his head. "I mean, they'll look at us like a pair, sure, but Elizaveta will probably have scouts from the Hungarian team, anyway. So they'll all probably talk it over."

"I see."

Arthur stared hard at the parchment, seeming to (finally) earn a concerned look from Alfred.

"What's up…?"

Despite the subconscious want of concern, Arthur jerked his head up, eyes wide as he blinked at Alfred. "What? Oh, no! Nothing!" he insisted, now trying to laugh it off. "It's nothing! Just lost in thought; I have a test coming up soon in…." _Damn, Arthur, just pick one…! _"In Muggle Studies!"

All Arthur received from Alfred was a blank stare. Arthur tried to grin it off, hoping that Alfred wouldn't remember that—

"You took Muggle Studies in Fourth Year."

Damn it. "W-well! That was Level 1! I'm taking the Advanced Level! Think of it as me learning more about your heritage!"

"The way you say it is almost insulting…."

"How so?"

Alfred rolled his eyes, rolling up the parchment. "Well for one, you could just ask me if there's something you wanna know about Muggles. Two, there's only one Muggle Studies class offered at Hogwarts." It looked as if Alfred was packing up to leave, stuffing a few things in his bag and standing up. "And three, using it as an excuse? Geesh, Arthur, I know it probably wasn't what you meant, but think before you say something!"

This time Arthur was the one getting annoyed, now at Alfred's hypocrisy, and the fact that Alfred apparently thought it was okay for him to just up and leave. "You do that all of the time! You practice virtually no tact, unless it will get you something! Talk about looking before you leap—why not practice what you preach!"

"At least I'm not insulting Muggleborns!"

"I'm not at all insulting you! You just said that you knew that!" Arthur exhaled desperately.

It didn't seem that Alfred much cared for Arthur's continued assertion. He just groaned, annoyed, fixing his bag over his shoulder with an, "I'll see you at the match, I guess."

Alfred stood there for a moment, staring (more like glaring) at Arthur. They looked at each other just briefly before Arthur looked away. "Yeah," he said. "Good luck."

At this, Alfred scoffed, and just stalked away. Once he was out of the library, Arthur threw his quill down and wiped everything across the table and into his bag. Alfred knew perfectly well what Arthur had meant; why did he have to keep insisting that Arthur was out to slur against him? He wasn't! It wasn't at all what Arthur had meant. It didn't occur to him until some more fuming down the halls and corridors to the Slytherin Common Room that maybe he should have just been honest with Alfred in the beginning. But that required being honest with himself, and forced him to admit _it_. If he admitted _it_, it made it so much more real.

If these scouters from the US ended up wanting him, Alfred would take it up in a heartbeat. Alfred was a Seventh Year. He didn't need to finish their final term; they were mostly supplementary classes for future careers anyway, and if Alfred chose to join a professional Quidditch team, that was his decision. It would fit with curriculum, in any case. He certainly wouldn't be looked down upon by anyone. He was one of the most popular guys at Hogwarts; captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Good looking, charming…. Things that made Arthur forgive him when he broke rules, when instead he should have deducted points.

He didn't want Alfred being scouted and taken away from him. He knew that Alfred would go back to America, this time for good, and not just for the summer. Meanwhile, Arthur would be back at home with his brothers, and their fiancées, (or, in William's case, boyfriend), forced to put up with everyone's _shit _with no one to drag him out. Alfred would be too busy beating metal balls at peoples' heads to care, or—or to notice, and he wouldn't even owl, Arthur was sure! Stupid jocks….

Arthur hadn't realized he'd made it back to his dorm until the sound of his bag falling to his side shocked him back. Looking in the direction of his pillows, he realized something else. He wasn't sure when he'd actually fallen so deep for Alfred F. Jones, resident Gryffindor Hero. They fancied each other, but this…. This newer feeling was painful, yet pleasant, and he hated it. Especially with how upset he was at that damned Yankee. How could he just make Arthur want to laugh, and smile, and just … yell, and break things, all at the same time?

He fell onto his bed, still in his robes, but he didn't care. He stared at the ceiling, unwilling to admit this newer feeling. If he did, he knew that everything would come tumbling down around him. He had to keep it pushed deep inside, and certainly away from Alfred. Even if it did do the opposite to admit it, and everything happened how Arthur wanted it to, he didn't want Alfred to be miserable, and stay just because Arthur wanted him to. Arthur wanted Alfred to be happy, and if beating Bludgers at (admittedly) suspecting victims, then … so be it!

Unless….

No, that would be horrible. Unless Alfred _just so happened_ to _not_ be what the recruiters were looking for…. Then Arthur wouldn't feel so bad about asking Alfred to stay with him. But Alfred was good; he was captain for a reason—how could he _not _be what the US teams were looking for? (Really—and how long had it been since they'd seen the Championship match at the World Cup?) Yet, if he could just, somehow, make sure that they didn't see Alfred at his best….

He would feel so guilty, the rest of his life. Even if he did confess later on, and that was a big if, he would die a guilty man, years on. He couldn't do that. He wanted to – oh, how he wanted to – but that would be against every rule, and what kind of example would he be setting, as Head Boy? Alfred would hate him; he would hate him forever. Even if he and Alfred didn't end up working out, Arthur wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the look of betrayal that Alfred would no doubt carry with him every day.

Arthur pulled his pillow over his face, and groaned into it.

He fell asleep, still trying to think of a plan.

* * *

><p>The morning of November first was chilly, as usual. Students tired from the previous night still managed to roll out of bed and drag their feet to the Great Hall for a bite of toast and goblet of pumpkin juice to help wake them up. Of course, what really helped were the excited students, those getting ready for the Quidditch match set to take place in just over 30 minutes. The Slytherin team had on their uniforms, sans robes, as did the Gryffindor team. Many other students passed by either, or both, tables, wishing the teams good luck.<p>

It couldn't exactly be said for Arthur. He sat at the table, staring blankly across the hall with toast hanging out of his mouth. The Daily Prophet sat open before him, unread and becoming increasingly decorated with crumbs. (The pictures stared at him as if insulted—nothing new as of the night previous.) He was tired, despite having gotten the recommended hours of sleep, and he hadn't bothered to brush through his hair after getting out of the bath.

He was too busy staring at the Gryffindor table to care. Actually, to be honest, he was too busy staring at the Gryffindor Quidditch team, more specifically their captain, who didn't seem to, at all! notice that he was being stared at. What a dick. Also, the group of Fourth Year girls from Hufflepuff that were currently gazing up at him with hearts and sparkles in their eyes. Them, too. They needed to _back off _before Arthur found a reason to deduct 50 points – each! – from Hufflepuff.

Stupid Hufflepuffs and their happy dispositions and … and friendliness!

Grumbling to himself, Arthur ripped the toast from his mouth and hurriedly swallowed what he'd bitten off before downing his pumpkin juice.

"Jerk Arthur! Jerk Arthur!"

If he didn't choke on it first, anyway. Coughing, Arthur slammed his goblet down and grabbed a napkin, but not before garnering the looks of most of his fellow Slytherins, and several others. (But not, apparently, Alfred's!) Regaining his focus, Arthur glumly noticed his soaked post, and stained front. Marvelous. He shook his head, and then looked straight across where he saw his little Second Year brother, Peter. They weren't normally on good terms, mostly due to the gaps in their age, but today, mostly….

Was because Peter was in Gryffindor, and Arthur didn't feel like liking Gryffindor very much, today.

"What do you want, you little brat?"

Peter pouted, grabbing a donut from a tray floating by. "Wow, someone's grumpy this morning. Afraid you're gonna lose?" he taunted.

Arthur glared, feeling his anger start to rise. It wasn't even eleven-o-clock, and already he felt like strangling something. "Not at all!" he began loudly. "Slytherin's team is superior!" Arthur's pride grew as he was heard throughout the hall. The Slytherins cheered loudly, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs didn't seem to care, and the Gryffindor's boos matched the Slytherin cheer in volume. Peter stuck out his tongue, but this was a mistake. As Peter opened his mouth to say something, Arthur swept his wand out and muttered a quick Tongue Tying Jinx. Several housemates of Arthur's witnessed, and laughed. Arthur just smirked smugly at Peter's helplessness.

"'Oo-ah ah jehk, Ahthah!"

"And you're annoying. Go run along to your golden-hilted housemates."

It was odd, watching Peter run off his table. He thought he'd feel much more satisfied, but clearly jinxing his little brother wasn't quite the pick-up he needed. No: He knew what he needed, and he knew what he wanted; they were linked, yet so vastly different in approach. It still plagued Arthur, and the temptation would only grow the second he took his seat in the Faculty Box with the other professors and Prefects. The worst part was that those damned recruiters would be in the same box…. If he could just confound one of them….

Once more Arthur found his eyes on his boyfriend, noticing with an inward groan that it was he that Peter had gone to for the counter jinx. The good part of this was that Alfred finally found time in his busy morning schedule to spare Arthur a glance. The bad part of this was that Alfred's glance was one of disappointment, only driving the Guilt Stake deeper into Arthur's heart. Arthur would ask why it was only Alfred who could twist him like this, but he recalled his disregarded revelation from the previous night. There would be no more thinking on this.

The donut tray floated by again, and Arthur grabbed the stickiest, sugary-est one he could find, and head quickly back to his dorm to grab his winter cloak, gloves, and scarf.

* * *

><p>"On the Slytherin team, we have Keeper Natalia Arlovskaya! Beaters Ivan Braginski and very cute Lovino Vargas—"<p>

"Fernandez, not today," Professor McGonagall warned. She sat next to Fernandez to make sure he didn't make any … too 'out there' remarks. "I don't want his Bludgers coming our way."

"…Fine, fine…. Chasers Eirík Odinsson, Gilbert Beilschmidt, and Captain Emma Bauwens! Last, and least, Seeker Evalyne Gotti!"

Cheers erupted mostly from where the Slytherins sat as the Slytherin team flew out of their locker room, circling the pitch in a V formation. There was mostly only polite clapping elsewhere, and audible jeers from Gryffindors and their supporters. Beside Arthur sat Ravenclaw Prefect Roderich Edelstein to his right, and to his left sat the Gryffindor prefect Timo Väinämöinen. Arthur had no real qualms with Timo; he was a pretty all right guy, and didn't really bother anyone. On Timo's other side, though….

Were the scouters.

Arthur groaned as Antonio continued on.

"And the Gryffindor team!" Louder applause and cheering echoed everywhere. "Keeper Berwald Oxenstierna!" Berwald flew out to good applause, particularly from Timo. "Beaters Elizaveta Héderváry—" This time Roderich clapped a little more enthusiastically, the faintest hints of a grin on his face as the girl flew by. "—And Captain Alfred F. Jones!"

Arthur cheered inwardly as everyone who wasn't a Slytherin student whooped and yelled loudly. Arthur watched as he flew out on his way-too-fancy American-made broom; watched as his scarlet and golden robes flew out behind him in an almost regal manner. He watch as Alfred zoomed by a group of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw girls that held a sign saying, "Marry Us, Alfred!" enchanted to sparkle and flash. Jealousy pinged in Arthur and he glared at them. Would he be caught for starting that banner on fire…?

"Also, Jones has asked me to remind everyone that yes, the 'F' does indeed stand for 'Fu—'"

"_Fernandez! _Why does every commentator have to try and make comments they shouldn't be making…."

"Okay! Dios mio…. We also have Chasers Mathias Christiansen, Yao Wang, and Heracles Karpusi! Last and a lot less least than Gotti, Gryffindor Seeker Toris Laurenatis!"

The hisses from Slytherin were easily drowned out by cheers from … everywhere else. Arthur rolled his eyes. Another typical Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Aside from the whole his boyfriend was being taken away from him forever deal, of course. Sighing, Arthur glanced down to the center pitch where Madam Hooch stood talking to the captains, likely warning them to play fairly and safely.

Just a moment later the Quaffle was tossed, and the whistle sounded. The game had begun.

Green and red zipped by everywhere on the field, and it took Arthur's eyes a second to adjust to the speed. The game hadn't even been played a minute, and Gryffindor looked to already be using one of its minor formations where Chasers were concerned. Gryffindor was either scared (not likely) or planning something (likely). It was probably something to make Alfred look even better. Arthur's fingers flexed in his gloves, becoming more and more nervous as the game progressed. Not even because of how particularly violent this game was looking to become, but because….

Oh, this was stupid! He should be happy for Alfred! Part of him was, of course! But a larger – much, much larger – part of him wanted nothing more than to just grab Alfred and keep him hidden away. These recruiters could look at Héderváry, instead. She was just as good as Alfred. Then again, she would likely be scouted for by a Hungarian delegation; not an American one….

"Oh!" was the resounding sound around the stadium, bringing Arthur back to the game. He looked up in time to see Gryffindor Chaser Karpusi hanging from his broom by one hand. The whistle blew and immediately the two teams stomped at each other, yelling. Arthur couldn't make out what was being said, but thankfully, that's what that Dufferhouse Fernandez was for.

"Looked like a pretty extreme example of blatching by Beilschmidt!" he said. "Man, Gilbert, we're not even 15 minutes into the game!"

From below, Beilschmidt smiled up proudly, offering a thumbs-up to everyone to mixed reception. Soon enough, all the other players were back up in the air, the Quaffle being passed to and fro. A few more penalties were made by Slytherin, a good share of them by Gryffindor, as well, and Arthur realized with lament that Alfred was playing one of his best games yet. He was proud, but he was devastated, especially when he overheard a few positive choice words from the recruiters. It went on like that for another hour and some minutes, until Madame Hooch stepped on the pitch and blew her whistle. It would be a 15-minute intermission, with the score frozen at 30-20 to Slytherin.

For the first 10 minutes, Arthur just sat there staring out at the Forbidden Forest. His eyes glanced this way and that, noticing the weather lightening up. It hadn't been bad at all, earlier, but it was getting noticeably nicer. On a personal level, he rather enjoyed the grayer days, with just enough sun peeking through. Not that he didn't enjoy or love sunny days with hardly a cloud in sight, but if that were to be the weather every day, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it properly. He felt a very small breeze pass by, and that was when he got his idea.

Without a second's hesitation, he turned to Edelstein, whispering, "How good are you at casting the confundus charm?"

Edelstein stared at the sudden inquiry, clearly _confunded _himself. So it was a little out of the blue to him, but still. "I'm afraid it's not my forte, but I can cast the spell in at least a mediocre manner."

Arthur was quiet for a minute, then shook his head. "No, that's fine. Perfect. A simple one will do."

"What is it you want...?" Edelstein asked warily. It caused Arthur to freeze, until the twitch of an eyebrow seemed enough to break the ice. He leaned a bit closer to Edelstein, and this time Arthur spoke lowly.

"I want you to confund the two gentlemen sitting next to Väinämöinen. I don't actually care how you do it, just get it done, and don't say anything about it to anyone."

The Ravenclaw Prefect remained silent.

Arthur groaned. "Look. You can do this for me and earn your house 70 points, or you can decline and lose your house 30 points. However. If you decide to let anyone in on this at all, I promise that I will see to it that Ravenclaw loses all of their points."

Edelstein looked to ponder over the idea of for a moment or two, his nose just a little higher in the air than it had been five seconds previous. "I will do it," he finally said. "But I make no promises that my charm will have a desired effect."

"As long as you cast one that confuses them, it's fine." Arthur stood up, straightening himself out. "Cast it as soon as Hooch starts the next round, and I'll be back soon after that."

Arthur didn't stay long enough to see or hear any reaction from Edelstein. He simply took off down the stairs of the viewing tower. The Prefects that had been in the box brushed past him, as did several of the professors. He muttered out apologies, even if he hadn't run into anyone, and once he reached the ground, he peered around hastily to make sure no one was in the vicinity. The last few students finally crawled back up their house's watch tower, and Arthur pulled out his wand.

This was going to be the hard part. He'd never casted a spell before that would have such reach, or such an effect. He studied such things in theory, but putting it to practice was turning it into something much different. He took a deep breath, stirring his wand in the air before him as he began chanting,

"_Ventus ictu, nubibus movere. Pluvia cadit, tonitrua sonant._"

As he chanted a second time, Arthur could feel the wind pick up as Madam Hooch blew her whistle to start the next period. Looking up at the sky, he saw the clouds start gathering and darkening as thunder sounded off in the distance. Just a few minutes later, rain would start falling. He contemplated going back up to the stands, but … just in case, Arthur cast the spell once more, stronger, and then rushed up. Hopefully a little bit of stormy interference would cancel the game, and the recruiters would have no choice but to give up and try another day. (Which would be never, if Arthur got his way.)

When he arrived back to the top of the tower, he immediately sought Edelstein. The Austrian student nodded, and pointed to the two men who seemed entirely engrossed in figuring out just whose hat was whose. Pleased and smiling, Arthur took his seat, looking back towards the game. The score was still the same, and the storm was getting ready to unleash itself. Looking out at the players, Arthur spotted Alfred zooming over for the Bludger, smacking it away before it came too close to the two Hufflepuff Prefects in the front row of the box.

"I saw that, Braginski!" Fernandez yelled through the stadium just before Madame Hooch's whistle blew. "Bumphing penalty on Slytherin's Braginski!"

Arthur was still watching Alfred, who in turn had stopped at the whistle and looked at him. Everything stopped for Arthur. Everything except that he noticed that the rain had started to sprinkle down some, and the wind kept trying to grab the tail of Alfred's broom, but Alfred held it steady—both the broom and Arthur's gaze. Arthur had no idea what expression he was wearing, but Alfred shot him a kind of apologetic grin. Arthur must have at least returned the sentiment, because all of a sudden Fernandez was reporting it.

"Aww, the Romeo and Juliet pair! I should go get some music started and we can turn this game into a party!"

Arthur froze, ready to turn and throttle their 'announcer'. The world would have been a better place without him, right?

"Fernandez…" McGonagall quietly warned. Unfortunately it didn't seem to do much good, as Fernandez turned it into a pout.

"I'm so jealous! Lovino, why don't you fly over and give me those love-struck stares?"

"Fernandez!"

Lovino Vargas's control over his broom had faltered slightly and it looked like he was ready to fire a Bludger straight to Fernandez's face, but Hooch had called another faceoff and managed to distract him (for now). Arthur didn't want Alfred to fly away. Rather, he wanted solely to reach out and grab a hold of him. Of course his pride would never allow that, but more powerful than that was the wrath of Professor McGonagall. Holding and grabbing on to Alfred would have to wait, even if waiting was one of the last things Arthur wanted to do.

"Play resumes, and Odinsson passes the Quaffle off to Bauwens, back to Odinsson and now on to Beilschmidt! Beilschmidt feints, and—oh, Christiansen crashes! That's gonna hurt in the morning, man…."

Play continued on, injuries slowly becoming normal as the wind began picking up and becoming much stronger than it had been. This would be fine and useful, except now the recruits were too busy teaching each other the German alphabet, making the need for Arthur's storm … null. He sighed, looking out to the pitch where a squall of sorts was becoming much larger, and the guilt that gripped him was much more than it had been last night—

"Both Gotti and Laurenatis are after the Snitch! Whoever catches this ball wins the game!" Fernandez yelled over the thunder. "Look at them, zooming around—well, as well as you can. Where did this rain come from?"

From up close and far away, Arthur heard the game play. Hits of bats on Bludgers, Chasers with the Quaffle, and he was pretty sure he saw and felt Gotti and Laurenatis rush past.

"They're in a dive!"

It was as if everyone had stopped what they were doing, and watching the race of red and green. Sometimes Gotti would pull ahead, other times Laurenatis. If Arthur could see properly through the sheets now pouring down around them, he saw both of them stretch the hands out….

Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and everyone stopped and looked at the scoreboard.

**Gryffindor: 20 Slytherin: 180**

Arthur stared at the board as the two Slytherin Prefects stood up, jumping and cheering and clinging on to Arthur. Meanwhile, the rest of the students gave either a flat or unenthused, "Yay," or outright heckled the emerald-robed athletes. Finally it caught on to Arthur, as he realized that this might help him out in keeping Alfred by his side. He grinned, smiled, then let out an excited, "Whoop!" The moment somewhat scared some of the others, as he rarely showcased such emotion, but he was too relieved to care. He jumped up, and rushed down the tower.

He had a Gryffindor to find.

* * *

><p>The second Alfred came around the corner of the corridor, still in his Quidditch uniform, Arthur immediately embraced him.<p>

"Slytherin won! Fair and square!" he said.

Alfred didn't move, or laugh, or smile along. "There were a ton of penalties," was all he really said in regards to that. Maybe he was still upset about the night before…?

Arthur let him go, trying to look a little deeper into Alfred's eyes. "Alfred, if you're still upset about yesterday, I'm … really sorry…." Oh, he hoped he wouldn't have to say it twice.

"Huh? Last night?" It took a moment, but Alfred seemed to finally remember. "Oh! That? Pshh, I was over that in an instant."

Well. That was good to know.

"No," Alfred continued. He began walking, and Arthur joined him. He joined him rather close to his side, arms brushing constantly. "Just the scouters…. They said they couldn't really read into many of my 'intricacies,' whatever that means, and want to come back to the next game to see them." He looked a little lost in thought, his eyes focused only the floor beyond them. "Kind of a freak storm, huh?"

Arthur's heart skipped at the question. He tried laughing it off, but it sounded awkward. So instead he tried with, "H-haha! Yeah! It—it was, wasn't it?" to which Alfred only nodded.

The look on Alfred's face was killing Arthur. Should he fess up? Should he stay silent? What would he do? What _should_ he do? The thoughts tormented him, but even through that he managed to think it out. Now wasn't the time to tell him, was it? He understood about the sooner the better, but it just seemed … a little _too_soon just yet. Well, he could avoid that, right…?

"Alfred," he began, stopping. The hall they were in was empty, still; hopefully it would stay that way. Alfred had stopped as well, turning just slightly. Arthur felt his gut move uncomfortably as he thought of a way to say this without sounding … remarkably sappy. He took a deep breath. It was just something he had to do; something he had to get out. "I…. I don't want you to leave."

The moment the words left his mouth, Arthur regretted it immensely. Alfred would take them the wrong way, as he had his lie about Muggle Studies. (Okay, fine, so that one was an actual lie, and he figured maybe he did kind of deserve a little bit of what Alfred gave him.) He groaned for what seemed like the umpteenth time in 2 days, and went to walk away, but Alfred had grabbed on to Arthur's upper arm, keeping him in place.

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" he asked with wide, inquiring eyes.

Arthur could barely believe this. Was Alfred really…? Was he really asking this? "You're being _scouted_. What do you mean, 'What makes you think I'm leaving?' You're going to train and become a professional Quidditch player, while I'm still at Hogwarts."

This time it was Alfred's eyebrow's that did the furrowing. "You think…? Arthur…."

Arthur looked down, trying hard not to cry. But … but Alfred was getting ready to leave him in the next couple of weeks for the rest of term, and, subsequently, the rest of forever. That feeling from the night before was back in full force, and feeling it made Arthur's eyes all the more teary. This was really not the way he ever wanted Alfred to see him. He didn't have to say anything, because Alfred had pulled him into a hug, then walked them to an even more isolated hallway.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he said. "The recruiters wanna see more of me, and even if they do like what they see, I'm not going anywhere until the end of term. You don't gotta worry!"

Arthur hurriedly swept away the two, maybe 3, tears that had fallen, and scowled down at Alfred's chest. "Well you could have told me that, you idiot!"

Alfred gave a light laugh, and then pulled Arthur into another hug. "Like I'd leave you."

Alfred's chest was warm, and without the padding that came with the Quidditch uniform, Arthur could just faintly hear Alfred's heartbeat. It was nice, and comforting; it made his presence that much more real, and solid, and for that, Arthur was grateful. He released a sigh and brought his own arms up to wrap around Alfred. The words were added comfort, almost security, even if only for roughly the next 8 months. "You'd better not, you git."

The feeling he felt was back, but this time, instead of trying to rip at him, it was pleasant, and it felt good, and warm. Arthur knew what it was, but even though he was in quite the appropriate setting, he was still too afraid to admit anything. For now he'd let it sit there, but he wouldn't forget it.

"You played well," he said, out of nowhere.

Alfred laughed once more. "You think so?"

"I daresay you're nearly good enough for the Chudley Cannons."

"…That was harsh."

"Think of it as constructive criticism."

Arthur didn't go back to the Slytherin Common Room for the festivities surely being held. Instead he sat in that hall with Alfred, enjoying every ounce of company he could get from him.

* * *

><p>END<p>

* * *

><p>Go to the Harry Potter Wikia for more Quidditch info! Has info on Hogwarts teams, regional teams, national teams, and stuff like the sport's history, and penalties! Broomstick info, etc. All I made up were Alfred's broom (mentioned in the other HP AU fic I did), and I wasn't sure of the national US team and their World Cup standing. I couldn't find anything on it. That's regarding Quidditch. As for the spell Arthur performs? I made that up with the help of Google Translator. (It's just a spell, so I'm not too worried.)<p> 


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